


Go Down Swinging

by whumphoarder



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crack, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Frustration, Gen, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is an actual spider, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, spider instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: Peter has been tediously trying to finish his calculus exam for the past two hours. But how the hell is he supposed to focus with the enemy lurking just over his shoulder?





	Go Down Swinging

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Sally0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally0/pseuds/Sally0) for beta reading!!

Peter is going insane.

He’s sitting at his desk in his bedroom at the compound late Sunday afternoon, his calculus textbook, several sheets of notebook paper full of nearly illegible scribbles, and the four pages that make up the take-home exam that Tony’s just found out about (“Kid, when you said you had ‘a few math problems left to do,’ I didn’t think you meant your _entire midterm_! You’re officially denied lab access until I see a filled out test, Jesus Christ”) spread out in front of him.

The content is challenging, but he’s good at calc and it’s been two hours now, so he really should be further along than problem five. But how the hell is he supposed to focus with his senses going off every thirty seconds, reminding him that the enemy is still at large?

He copies the next problem onto his scratch paper—Mr. Martinez is constantly harping at him to show his work—and flips back in the textbook to find the formula he needs. A low buzzing sound issues from the southwest corner of the room. He grits his teeth and inhales deeply in an active effort to ignore it.

Peter skims through the pages as the sound persists, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand straight. Now it’s coming from the southeast corner. Now near the door. Around his bed. He takes another deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fist tightly. Is it this hard for Dr. Banner when he’s trying to control his own temper? If so, Peter is grateful he’s only part spider instead of Hulk.

He starts copying the formula down on his paper. The lead in his mechanical pencil snaps and he has to pump out a new piece. Now the buzzing is coming from the northeast corner. Now behind his back. By the trashcan at his feet. Beside his ear. The lead snaps again.

He inhales deeply and counts to ten. That doesn’t make him any calmer, so he counts again in Spanish. Then once more in German. As the buzzing draws nearer, the numbers and symbols on the page blur before his eyes and he blinks twice to clear his vision.

But when the goddamn fly lands on the eraser of his pencil, Peter loses his shit.

With a guttural cry of fury that would put the Hulk to shame, he hurls the pencil at the opposite wall with such force that the plastic casing shatters upon impact. The fly, seemingly unharmed, buzzes upwards and lands on the top of the curtain covering the window.

Peter leaps up from his chair so suddenly that it topples over backwards. “Alright, that’s it, buddy!” he hollers at the insect. “You have picked the _wrong_ guy to mess with!”

Grabbing a stack of the newspapers leftover from his last social studies project, he rolls them up tightly before charging at the window. He whacks the curtain with his homemade swatter with such force that the glass behind it nearly cracks. The fly buzzes away and lands on his bedside lamp.

Peter chases it across the room, swinging wildly. He makes contact with the lamp and it goes flying off his nightstand. Peter’s senses ping at him and he spins around to catch it. He does so—mere centimeters from the ground—but the now awkward position of his feet twists his ankle. He falls to the ground in a tangle of gangly limbs, the lamp smashing under his weight.

The fly floats off and lands on his pillow.

“Gaah!” Peter cries in frustration. Grimacing in pain, he pushes himself up to stand on his knees and holds his now throbbing hand out in front of him. A large piece of glass is lodged in his palm. He rips it out with a hiss. Blood streams forth.

Peter grabs a (possibly?) clean sock from the floor and ties it around his bleeding hand with a clumsy knot. Battle wound now dressed, he gets back to his feet, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain in his jarred ankle. He frowns down at the injured limb.

“Oh hell no, Spider-Man is not about to be bested by a _fly_ ,” he growls. He limps towards the bed, preparing to lunge at the pillow when he stops. _Spider. That’s it!_ An almost evil grin spreads across his features.

Peter hobbles across the room to his dresser and yanks open the top drawer. He tears through the contents, tossing underwear and socks back over his shoulder until finally finding the object he’s been searching for.

There’s a crazed glint in his eyes as he stares at the old web shooter in his hand.

“Oh this bitch is going _down_.”

**X**

Once a month, FRIDAY goes offline for a few hours to run her regular system maintenance. This check had been scheduled for early the next morning, but after banishing the kid to his room to finish his calc exam, Tony found himself with a bit of unexpected free time, so he opted to just get it out of the way now.

He’s been sitting in his lab the past couple hours, feet resting on the desk in front of him and flipping through a few engineering magazine back issues as he supervises the mostly automatic process.

“How we doing, FRI?” he asks, taking a sip of coffee from the 3D Hulk fist mug Peter got him for Christmas.

“My systems are at seventy-three percent capacity, boss,” FRIDAY reports. “But you should know my motion sensors are picking up unusual activity in Peter’s room.”

Tony frowns, uncrossing his feet and lowering them back to the ground. “Elaborate.”

“I am detecting an abnormal amount of movement throughout the room, as well as some rather concerning sounds through my auditory sensors.”

“Play the audio,” Tony orders.

Over the speakers he hears the sound of something crashing and muffled cursing. Then there’s the familiar ‘thwip’ of Peter’s web shooter firing, followed by a loud groan.

Tony’s heart lurches and he’s on his feet instantly, moving towards the door. “Shit, who’s he firing at? Was there a security breach?!” he demands as he hurries out of the lab and towards the elevator.

“I am only detecting one heat signature,” FRIDAY informs. “All security systems are operating at full capacity. I am unaware of any breaches.”

Despite FRIDAY’s reassurance, he continues jogging towards the elevator and presses the button up to Peter’s floor. The doors slide open again and he steps out, one hand hovering over the arc reactor on his chest housing his armor, ready to deploy it at a moment’s notice.

He knocks on Peter’s closed door. “Hey kid?” he calls. “Everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah, all good!” Peter hollers back, followed by a small crash. “Everything is a-okay!”

“Kid?” Tony jiggles the handle. It’s clearly not locked because the knob turns just fine, but he’s still not able to push the door open. “What the hell is going on in there?” he demands. “Did you _block the door_?”

“No! I mean, sorta but it’s not on purpose, it’s, uh—” There’s another crash and Peter lets out a sharp “oof!”.

“Pete?” He jiggles the doorknob again, this time shoving his shoulder into it. Still no luck. “Did you just fall?”

“I’m alright!” the kid yelps back. “I’m good! Actually, you can go. I’ll uh, I’ll just—”

Tony heaves out an exasperated sigh. “Kid, I’m running out of patience here. Either you open this door in the next five seconds, or it’s coming down. What’s it gonna be?”

There’s a beat. “Uhm… I can’t really come to the door right now."

“Alright, suit yourself,” Tony mutters. He flips up the face of his watch and the gauntlet encases his hand. Adjusting the power on his repulsor to the lowest setting, he fires at the edge of the door.

It blasts open immediately, but when Tony catches his first glimpse into the kid’s room, he’s rendered momentarily speechless.

Peter looks up at his mentor from his awkward position the floor. “Mr. Stark, I can explain!” he blurts out.

Tony just blinks at him. “Peter.”

“So there’s this fly, and he’s been like, _stalking_ me all day ever since I got here! Like he has some kind of fly vendetta!” Peter exclaims. “I couldn’t let him get away with it! I just—”

“Peter,” Tony repeats, letting his gaze travel around the room. “What. The actual. Fuck.”

Half the furniture is overturned, the curtains have been torn down, the contents of the kid’s dresser are strewn about the room, and there are pieces of smashed lamp and drops of blood littering the carpet. Numerous spider webs of varying sizes are covering just about every visible surface, in some places stretching all the way from floor to ceiling. Peter himself is sprawled out on the ground, a blood-soaked sock tied around his palm and one foot caught in a particularly intricate web.

Tony takes a long, deep inhale before squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus take the wheel…” he mutters under his breath.

“But the _fly_ , Mr. Stark!” Peter insists. There’s a wild look in his eyes. “You don’t understand! He’s _taunting_ me! _Mocking_ me! He _knows_.”

With an equally long exhale, Tony takes a few careful steps into the room. Buzzing around the kid’s head is a completely ordinary-looking house fly. “You mean that fly?” he asks, pointing.

Peter nods frantically. “He’s _possessed_ , I tell you!”

Tony keeps his eyes trained on the fly as it draws closer. When it gets within a foot of his chest, he shoots out both arms and claps his hands together, squishing the insect between them.

Peter’s jaw drops. “How… How did you…?”

Tony scoffs, wiping fly guts off on his jeans. “Turns out having an intern with zero self preservation instincts drastically improves your reflexes.”

Peter looks back sheepishly. “Uh… Thanks?”

Tony holds up a finger and gives Peter a stern look. “You’re not coming out of this room until this entire mess is cleaned up, understood?”

Eyes still wide, Peter bobs his head up and down quickly. “Yeah, yeah, of course!” he agrees.

“Good.” Tony turns around to head back out.

“Wait!” Peter calls after him.

Tony turns back around. “What?”

“I’m still stuck—I need my web solvent.” Peter jerks his head to the side and Tony follows the movement to the backpack that’s leaning against the bed, just out of the kid’s reach. “It’s in there.”

Tony rolls his eyes again and moves towards the bag, being careful to sidestep the webs as he does. But just as his feet reach the bed, he pauses and glances back at Peter. “Remind me again, how long does this stuff take to dissolve on its own?”

“Like two hours,” Peter says with a shrug. “But with the spray it’s like, thirty seconds, so if you could just…”

A sly grin spreads across Tony’s lips. Rather than unzipping the backpack, he picks up the kid’s calculus papers and textbook before pulling a fresh pencil out of his own pocket. He plops all of these down on the floor in front of the trapped teenager. “Have fun, kiddo,” he declares.

Peter shoots him a panicked look, tugging desperately at his stuck leg. “No, no no no! Mr. Stark! Please!” he begs.

Tony gives him one last smirk before heading to the door. “Don’t forget your Taylor polynomials for those tougher integrals,” he calls back over his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> (Idek man, these fics just keep getting weirder)
> 
> Comments are always welcome :D 
> 
> Come hang out on tumblr if you'd like! My url there is also [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/)


End file.
